


Hellhounds

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is running for his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellhounds

**Author's Note:**

> Big time warning, this is a death story. Don't know what possessed me to write it but, here it is. It was first published in Come To Your Senses 16 in January of 2000. 

## Hellhounds

by J M Griffin

Author's disclaimer: Alas, I don't own them.

* * *

HELLHOUNDS  
by J. M. Griffin 

Blair Sandburg ran hard, harder than he'd run any of the times he'd been chased on the job with Jim. The rain slick streets were a bone-grey blur beneath his feet, his breathing rasped as harshly as a wicked step-mother. There was a dagger of pain in his side that threatened to break off inside him. Still, he dare not stop. The man was sure to get him if he did. The Man. The big, dark one who hounded him, who knew things Blair never wanted to know. 

What he wanted was home, and safety and Jim. No, no, not home, he couldn't go home. He couldn't bring this to Jim's doorstep. Blair took a few more frantic steps and stopped suddenly, going down on his knees with a bone-jarring crash and then, scrambling up, ducked into an alley way. It was a dead end, but the fence at the back had a gaping hole and he shoved his way through, hearing the tear of his flannel shirt. 

Jim would be pissed, Blair thought inanely. It was Jim's shirt, and one the big cop liked to wear often, which was why Blair had worn it today. Because it smelled like Jim, even when freshly washed. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled from Blair's throat. "Jim's gonna kill me." He said it aloud and laughed again, bitterly this time. "If this guy doesn't do it first." 

He dodged some trash cans and climbed over another higher fence and ran like mad for the nearest intersection. There was not a sole in sight in the glimmering twilight. Blair spied an old bicycle leaning outside a convenience store and grabbed it and took off on it. He'd be sure to find its owner tomorrow or the next day. Right now he was commandeering it for his own personal //oh my god, he's coming even faster// use. 

He pedaled hard until he hit something in the road and went flying head over heels to land in a grassy culvert. The wind was knocked out of him and he stayed there for a time, unable to catch his breath. Finally, finally, when he could breathe normally again, he began cataloguing his aches and pains. His body seemed in one piece. His shoulder ached viciously; he must have done a one point landing on it, but that was about it. He was lucky really. No, not so lucky. 

He heard footsteps in the grass nearby and tensed up, barely able to see in the darkening gloom. That would be the man and he would be coming for him, he would... Blair screamed weakly as something touched him. Then he realized sheepishly it was only a dog with a cold, wet nose. The shaggy, grey mutt pushed at him, whined in his ear. He must be in its favorite spot or something, though Blair couldn't see how, as the ditch was damp with the day's rain. The animal whined again and Blair just closed his eyes and blocked it out. He needed to get up and get going. 

He dragged himself up eventually and swiped at the grass and dampness of his pants. His mind caught with an image of Jim's hands on these very same jeans buttoning them up, all five buttons, with studious attention. Blair'd cut his thumb cooking dinner for them the night before and had been cursing as he struggled to fasten his pants this morning (the only clean ones had to have a button fly, right?) and Jim had stopped him and done up the jeans himself with his big, agile hands. Blair had come erect under the ministration, but Jim had only grinned, patting the growing bulge and murmuring, "Tonight, Chief." Blair had flown out the door, perpetually late, but with a grin on his face. 

Now he swiped at the tears dripping down his face. //He had to get to Jim. He couldn't bring this to Jim.// Ahhhh. It was all such a mess, after what had been an okay day, a fine day, even if Jim had it off and Blair had to work. He should be home with Jim now, snug and warm in his lover's arms. Not standing by a roadside on a street he didn't recognize, trying to escape disaster. 

If he didn't get moving the man would catch him, strip him bare, suck the marrow from his bones leaving him alive, yet a husk of himself. 

Blair ran over to the bike, only to find the front tire was twisted beyond redemption. Hell! It was all such a horrible nightmare and it didn't seem to want to end. //If only I was dreaming; please let me be dreaming.// The words were a prayer. 

No deity heard. 

Instead, a car screeched up near him and he was running again. Up out of the culvert and across the field, mud sucking at his hikers every step of the way. The car couldn't follow him here and the man's slick-soled, city shoes would find no traction in the mud. 

He ran and ran, thinking of Jim, waiting at home, a fire lit, spaghetti simmering on the stove, wine chilling in the fridge. His Jim waiting for him, sprawled in the butter colored leather chair, eyes heavy lidded, watching for him, Blair, to enter the loft. He'd bounce over to the bigger man, straddle those muscular thigh's... 

His own thigh muscles strained as he ran and he couldn't keep up the illusion of peace. It was full dark now and there was no loft nearby to welcome him home. He sobbed as he ran, bitter with envy at the lights in the occasional house he saw in the distance. Head down, close to exhaustion, Blair jogged along the edge of a country road. These were rural homes, far apart. //As he was far from his love.// 

He came up hard against something. A man, dressed in a long raincoat. The big man's body rocked with the force of their impact and he struggled to keep them both from falling. Blair didn't help him. No, he screamed and bit and struggled. The Man had caught him and he wanted no part of him or his awful reality. So he hit and scratched and did everything to get away, but the dark man took the punishment, trying to get a grip on him, finally succeeding in getting his hands on Blair's upper arms and pinning him against his car. 

"Sandburg, Sandburg. Get hold of yourself. This isn't helping anything." 

"No, Simon. No. He can't be dead. I won't let him be dead." Blair screamed. "No no, no, nooooooo." 

He slumped into unconsciousness and Captain Simon Banks caught him before he hit the ground. 

* * *

He woke in his favorite place, a grassy culvert alongside a seldom traveled road. A big, black cat was curled against him. He grinned at it, chucked its sleepy chin with one long, elegant and rather dirty finger. 

"Morning, Panther." He said gently to the cat as he scrabbled around in the grass looking for his backpack. It was a good one, with lots of nifty deep pockets and a padded back section someone said was meant for a laptop computer. A friend had given it to him long ago. Someone who had loved him a lot. He wasn't sure of much these days, but he was sure of that one thing. He'd had a friend once, who'd loved him very much. Anyway, the backpack was old, now, and grubby. Kind of like him. 

He smoothed his long, silvered hair back from his face, wondering idly where the tie he'd had for it had gone. //Gone.// The man shivered at the word. It was a word he did not like at all. The tie was lost, not soon to be found. But maybe, maybe someday he'd find it again. In the meantime, it was daybreak and time to be going. 

He shouldered his pack and picked up the handsome, black cat and started moving. Jogging slowly along a country road and never looking back. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
